


Sadistic choice

by Anonymous



Category: Hannibal (TV), Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Abuse of Authority, BDSM Scene, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Coercion, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Emotional Manipulation, Gaslighting, Implied Cannibalism, M/M, Manipulation, Multi, Risk Aware Consensual Kink, Subdrop, Subspace, Use of Safe Word, consent taken too far, good boy being good for his doms, hannibal really likes twinks, implied amputation, implied threat of violence, taking things too far
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:40:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23021107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Written for the bad things happen bingo. Square B2 - sadistic choice.Hannibal and Will have taken Malcolm to their favorite club for some public play. But while things usually go very well for the three of them, this time is different. Hannibal wants something he has no right to ask for and wants to gift it to Will once Malcolm gives it to him - because even though he is asking, not demanding, his good boy never says no. And Hannibal really should know better by now.Will intervenes just in time, but Malcolm isn't grateful. A bad time is had by all.
Relationships: Malcolm Bright/Hannibal Lecter, Malcolm Bright/Will Graham, Malcolm Bright/Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 3
Kudos: 33
Collections: Anonymous





	Sadistic choice

Hannibal smoothed his fingers through Malcolm's hair, admiring how beautiful the boy looked on his knees for him. His eyes were nearly black in the dim light, his pupils blown so wide with pleasure and desire. He hummed softly as Hannibal scratched his nails along his scalp. He sounded like a cat, and Hannibal smiled down at him, gentle and beatifically. His hand slid down to the back of Malcolm's neck, fingers gliding over the edge of smooth leather. It was gently padded on the inside to keep Malcolm's skin free from any marks, and the outside was smooth and supple, the finest quality money could buy. Malcolm tipped his head back, and Hannibal wrapped his fingers around the long, pale column of throat bared to him. 

Malcolm was so perfectly responsive - naturally submissive and eager to sink into his subspace for a hint of praise and affection. Will at his most submissive wasn't nearly so malleable. Will had become exactly what Hannibal had intended - his own monstrous creature of blood and bone. And he craved the violence and destruction as much as Hannibal, even if they could not express it as they preferred as often as they liked. Staying off Jack Crawford's radar was beginning to become tiresome. Hannibal had some plans to handle that, too, but Will had refused to allow him to use their sweet, beautiful boy for such purposes. Will always did get attached to strays so easily. 

"Malcolm," Hannibal said quietly. 

Malcolm's eyes opened with a gentle flutter, struggling to focus on Hannibal as he looked at him from upside down. Hannibal gently tilted his head forward and nudged Malcolm's shoulder with two fingers, and he was quick to turn and face him. Hannibal smiled and brushed those fingers across Malcolm's cheek. A reward for his good behavior. Malcolm drank it in, his eyes sliding shut again. 

"Yes, sir?" he murmured, his voice so quiet Hannibal could hardly hear him over the music and other assorted din of the club they attended regularly. The exhibitionism thrilled Malcolm - and Hannibal would never not love showing off his work. Will didn't prefer it, but he always joined them. He didn't play much, instead preferring to watch them and watch others watch them. Hannibal wanted to present him with a gift. He could see him watching from across the room.

"I have a very important question for you," Hannibal told him. "Open your eyes." Malcolm's eyes snapped open. "Good boy. Now, I shall need all the focus you can manage. Can you do that?" Malcolm swayed slightly where he was kneeling, but he nodded once, sharp and decisive. Hannibal smiled. "You may choose, sweet one." He reached out and picked up Malcolm's right hand. He had a terrible psychosomatic tremor in his hand that had plagued him since he was a boy. In times of great stress, it reappeared. Sometimes, it caused him pain.

"Choose - choose what?" Malcolm asked. 

Hannibal kissed his hand in the space between Malcolm's thumb and the first finger joint. "Take your time and think carefully." Malcolm stared up at him with wide, trusting eyes. "Do you want me to take your hand?" 

Malcolm frowned. "But - you have it?" He twisted it and squeezed Hannibal's fingers. 

"No," Hannibal said with a chuckle. He held fast to Malcolm's hand and used his other to trace a circle around Malcolm's forearm midway between wrist and elbow. "I should take it here." He traced it again, envisioning it. "Imagine. No more tremor to trouble you. And I should be so very pleased." He smiled again, and he knew it was the sort of smile that would have sent a normal person running far and fast. Malcolm sagged to the side, and Hannibal stretched out one leg to help steady him. 

"I - I have to choose?" Malcolm asked. He sounded lost, confused. Hurt. "But. But why? I don't - I don't want to - I don't want to have to choose. I'm not supposed to. Not now. Not here."

Hannibal shushed him gently and cupped the side of Malcolm's face with his hand. The touch helped to settle him, ground him. It always did. Hannibal felt another rush at the amount of control Malcolm placed so willingly in his possession. 

Foolish, naive boy. 

"You must choose," Hannibal told him, quiet but intense. "Will you give me your arm? Will you make me happy with your obedience? Or will you keep the hand that tremors and plagues you?"

Malcolm stared up at him with wide, frightened eyes. It was an impossible choice, Hannibal knew. It was cruel and sadistic in the worst way. He was taking advantage of Malcolm, and he knew it. The part of Malcolm that was still aware knew it, too, though his drops to subspace were often deep and swift and he would not recover for some time. He could not physically 'snap out' of this state.

That was the beauty of it. 

"I don't," Malcolm whispered.

Hannibal kissed his hand again. "It is your choice," he said. "But you must decide. May I have your arm?" 

He was going to eat it. He had a recipe for it selected already. He would have Malcolm eat it, too. 

"I -" Malcolm's large, pale eyes filled with tears as he began to shake. The experiment was ending faster than he'd hoped. "I don't know -"

Will appeared beside Malcolm, swift and silent as a shadow, kneeling beside him, wrapping his arms around him. "What is it?" 

Malcolm's wide eyes were locked onto Hannibal's. "Yes, sir. Yes." 

Hannibal grinned. Feral and vicious. 

"No," Will said. Malcolm turned his head to look at him, already frowning. "No. Hard no. Shrike." 

Hannibal sat back in his chair and waved at Will. "You heard him, Malcolm. No more." 

Malcolm struggled against Will's hold. "But I said  _ yes _ . I agreed! Please!" He held out his arm, tears still streaming down his face. "Please. I just want to be good!"

"Jesus Christ, Hannibal," Will snapped, "what did you do?" He wrapped both arms around Malcolm and sat on the floor, bullying him gently into his lap so he could hold him tight and still as Malcolm sobbed openly, his entire body trembling. They were getting a lot of looks - concern and pity, mostly, rather than the arousal and jealousy Hannibal preferred. 

"I let him make a choice," Hannibal said simply. "You said yourself he was getting too close, that he was too intelligent not to figure it out. I agreed with your assessment. I asked him if I could have his arm. Had he said no…" Hannibal shrugged lightly, but Will understood what it meant. They'd have had far more of Malcolm than only his arm. 

But he had said  _ yes _ .

Will had been the one to end the scene. Hannibal would have been able to cut off Malcolm's entire arm if he'd wanted. Malcolm would have let him. They'd experimented with knifeplay enough that Hannibal knew exactly how much Malcolm could handle. He would have had to administer a local anesthetic once they were at his house, but Malcolm would have held perfectly still and watched. And Hannibal would have kept him for years, taking bits and pieces of him as he liked. 

Malcolm really was quite perfect - though not as his own monster. No. He wasn't meant for that. 

But Will had ended their scene, and Hannibal couldn't do anything he'd planned to do. He stared down at them, a little niggle of resentment buried under his skin. He watched as Malcolm clung to and fought to get away from Will in turns. Will wasn't a large man - he was smaller than Hannibal was, certainly - but he was bigger than Malcolm and could hold him in place almost with ease. 

"You could help," Will snapped at Hannibal. "You caused this." He waited until Hannibal sank to the floor on the other side of Malcolm and managed to get him to calm down with a few gentle touches and soft words. "I can't let you do that to him. It - it wouldn't work."

"I wanted to," Malcolm argued piteously. "I wanted to be good."

"You are good," Will told him, gentle and so painfully honest. "You are far too good for the likes of us." He pressed a kiss to Malcolm's hair and rested there for a moment with his eyes closed. "We need to go home." 

Hannibal agreed. He helped Malcolm stand and held him close to his side, then helped Will to his feet. Malcolm was already shivering. It would not be an easy ride out of subspace this time. Malcolm was going to drop viciously hard. Will was already stuffing Malcolm into his thick, fleece-lined jacket, ignoring Malcolm's small, folded pile of clothes. Hannibal did insist Malcolm put on his shoes, but otherwise, they escorted Malcolm to Hannibal's Bently in Will's coat and his underwear. 

Will sat in the back with Malcolm as he shivered, but he'd gone quiet. Malcolm was rarely so quiet. He didn't always speak, but he always had some sort of commentary in the form of sounds or fidgeting. Hannibal was genuinely concerned for him. It didn't take terribly long to drive home, thankfully, but by the time they got there, Malcolm had already withdrawn from them.

He was on the floor in the living room in front of the fire, wrapped in blankets with water and coffee both at hand, but he still hadn't spoken to either of them other than to whisper his safe word when Will had tried to sit next to him. Will was in the chair nearby, and Hannibal was on the sofa. 

"Malcolm," he tried. 

Malcolm looked up at him. His eyes looked yellow from the reflected firelight. They were so pale. "How could you do something like that to me?" He sounded heartbroken, and Hannibal sighed. But Malcolm wasn't finished. He turned and looked at Will. "And you, too. Stopping him like that wasn't - that wasn't good for me. I'll probably be grateful later, but right now I really don't like you for it. I wish you'd let him do it." He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again and looked at Hannibal. "I want to go home."

"You should remain here and allow us to care for you, Malcolm," Hannibal tried to insist. 

Malcolm pushed the blanket off his shoulders and stood. "I'll walk." 

Will sighed, loud and annoyed. "Go put some clothes on. I'll get the truck warmed up." He muttered something else about Malcolm and Hannibal both being drama queens - he really had no room to talk - and Malcolm left to go find his small overnight bag so he could do as Will had asked.

Hannibal stayed where he was and looked into the fire. Perhaps he and Will would go to Italy for a while. It would give them all some time away, a much needed break. 


End file.
